


brewed coffee

by bio_at



Series: obligatory coffeeshop AU: mindcrack [1]
Category: MindCrack RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bio_at/pseuds/bio_at
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt orders the same kind of coffee that Zisteau always gets, and becomes a regular. Etho snarks at the side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The very ambitious, un-planned multichapter AU that I may or may not ever finish.

It’s Etho’s shift at the counter and his shift washing the cups when they first notice him—Etho nudges him when he goes to make the order, and Zisteau recognizes the mix he always orders when he’s not working in this place.

“That’s my mix,” he says bluntly, cringing a little because Etho puts in a little too much chocolate.

“A guy just ordered the same exact way you like your coffee,” Etho tells him happily. “What are the odds of that?”

“Not very high,” Zisteau admits, turning around to watch Etho go to the counter.

“Kurt,” he calls, and a tall, lanky man in a gray button down with a laptop under his arm takes it. He thanks Etho, who brightly replies “You’re welcome!” which for some reason makes the customer blush.

When he leaves, Etho turns to him with his ever-present grin and mutters, “Pretty cute, isn’t he?”

Zisteau flicks some tap water at him. A customer in line scowls at them.

—

His hand freezes in the middle of taking an order, and once he looks more carefully at the customer, he’s the same one Etho pointed out a few days ago.

“I like your taste in coffee, uh…”

“Kurt,” he says, and Zisteau is amused at how he can take note without being creepy. He slides open the till to put in his change, then turns around to make the mix with practiced movements.

He doesn’t have to call Kurt, who watched him make the mix, and damn, Etho was so right about this guy being cute.

“This is the way I like my coffee too,” he tells him quietly, when he places the cup on the counter.

“Cheers,” Kurt says with a smile. He opens the cup to take an experimental sip, and Zisteau doesn’t miss the way he bites his lower lip afterwards. “Wow, yes, this is great. Thank you—” his eyes flick downwards to his nameplate, “—Zisteau.”

He adds to the tip jar and Zisteau is too busy watching him walk away to check how much. When the door swings shut behind him, he looks around to find Etho smirking at him, leaning against the doorway to the staffroom.

“Shut your stupid face,” Zisteau growls.

—

“It’s kiss your barista day, Kurt,” Etho tells Kurt over Zisteau’s shoulder, who has to shoulder him back to prevent him from knocking him face first into the cash register. Zisteau rolls his eyes.

“Whoa, no,” Kurt says immediately, as Zisteau turns to make his drink, leaving Etho to talk to Kurt. “This counter’s a little too wide for me to lean across and kiss you, Etho.” Zisteau notices how Kurt laughs in the middle of his words, and it’s oddly endearing, and he’s totally not thinking about getting a kiss from Kurt.

“Oh, but I’m not your barista,” Etho quips, and Zisteau spills a little bit of Kurt’s drink when he slams it pointedly on the counter. “Alright, thank you, Etho,” he says. Etho and Kurt share a grin.

—

“What is it now, flower crown day?”

Zisteau had just forgotten about the pink-and-white headdress Etho had thrown everybody at the start of the day, and is properly horrified when Kurt reminds him. He digests his horror and deadpans, “No, a little girl just so happened to be giving out flower crowns on the street today.”

“Flower crowns can be  _manly_ , Z,” Etho laughs, walking out from the staffroom with a bag of coffee beans in his arms and a bright blue flower crown on his own head. “One day you will see. Here, Kurt, you can have one too!”

Etho pulls out a red-and-blue flower crown from seemingly nowhere and hands it to Kurt, who puts it on gingerly, much to Etho’s delight. Zisteau is seriously fighting an urge to pull out his phone to take a picture.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the baristas notice Kurt's sleeve tattoo and are incredibly curious.

It’s when Kurt reaches for the cup Zisteau slides across the counter that Kurt’s sleeve pulls back along his arm and a small detail of ink peeks out. “That thing on the back of your hand…. is that a  _tattoo_ ?” Zisteau asks incredulously.

Kurt grins into his cup of coffee, throwing Zisteau an amused look over the top of it, and Z knows right then that he isn’t getting an answer anytime soon. “Thanks for the coffee. Perfect as usual,” Kurt says while maintaining perfect eye contact, and Zisteau assumes he means the coffee. Kurt seems to realize what he said and did, because he waves quickly and turns to leave.

Z waves back absentmindedly, still a little confused.

— 

“Thank you, come back again!” Etho sings at yet another customer who’s quite obviously batting eyelashes at him. Zisteau notes her disappointed expression as Etho turns to talk to him.

“Talked to Kurt today?”

Zisteau keeps his expression even. “I made his coffee when you were out back that one time.”

Etho hums his assent, throwing a glance at where Kurt was sitting with his laptop open on the table and a barely-touched cup of coffee beside it. “He looks busy today.”

 _He does,_ Zisteau agrees privately. It’s easily the most focused he’s seen Kurt. As he watches, Kurt’s eyebrows draw together and his lip pulls up in a pout in a cute, confused look for a split second. He shakes his light blue sleeves back to free his wrists for typing, and a marginally bigger fraction of the tattoo is visible, but they’re too far to tell what it is.

“A tattoo?” Etho says, “Kurt doesn’t look like a tattoo guy—see that on his wrist?” His eyes are shining as he watches for Zisteau’s reaction.

“Saw it the other day, he dodged when I asked about it.”

Etho opens his mouth to reply, but Kurt absentmindedly shakes his wrists again and unbuttons his sleeves to fold them back.

“It’s a cloud,” Zisteau says fascinatedly, as Kurt returns to typing. “And… letters. Around his wrist, you see that?”

“Yeah,” Etho replies, leaning forward to get a better view. Zisteau resists the temptation to smack him and send him toppling over the bar. “It looks like it continues up! I betcha it’s a sleeve tat.”

“A sleeve tat? On  _Kurt_?”

“Hey, I’m surprised he has a tattoo at all.”

Over at the table, Kurt picks up his cup and takes a sip, looking up long enough to catch his baristas staring at him; Etho waves back shamelessly. Kurt’s eyebrows draw together again, but he smiles and tugs at the folded sleeve on his left arm.

—

Lazy Sunday morning music warbles out of the speakers above the counter as Zisteau wipes a glass clean. Kurt is yawning in a bar chair off to the side, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

Zisteau tries to stay awake by focusing on the meaning of the song that was playing, but the imagery he gets from  _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ isn’t very stimulating—if anything, it makes him sleepier.

_Someday I’ll wish upon a star  
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me…_

He visualizes fluffy white clouds, the usual cotton candy image that children draw, and his eyes snap to the crisp white buttoned sleeve that Kurt is wearing.

“Clouds, huh,” Zisteau mutters to himself. Kurt looks up from his newspaper briefly. “That tattoo you have…” Zisteau tries, and he can already see the beginnings of a shy smile on Kurt’s face at the mention of it. “If—if you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me. Because I will probably keep asking until you stop me. Sorry.”

That gets a laugh out of Kurt, at least. “No, it’s just—I keep getting told I don’t look like a tattoo kind of guy, aaand I’m getting a little sick of it. Let’s get that out of the way. I have a tattoo. Deal with it.” Kurt moves, instinctively it seems, to cover his left shoulder. “But yeah, I don’t mind talking about it.”

“Alright,” Zisteau agrees, putting down the glass and the washcloth. Kurt is a lot more forceful than he originally made him out to be. “So what is it?”

Kurt smiles amusedly. “What do you think it is? You and Etho seem to have a few theories going.”

Well, no point hiding it now. “Um… I think it’s a cloud. Etho says it looks like a sleeve tattoo.”

“Eehh… both  _kind of_  correct. It’s a plume of smoke.” Zisteau raises his eyebrows, willing him to carry on. Kurt starts to unbutton his left sleeve. “It’s also a sleeve tattoo.”

Kurt pulls his sleeve up as high as it could go without wrecking the fabric, revealing an intricate gray-and-purple plume of smoke on a background of a starry sky. Barely visible on the nook of his elbow, under the cloth, is the tail end of a rocket.

“A rocket launch,” Zisteau says, leaning closer. The detailing is phenomenal, and he can’t help but hold out a finger to trace along the curved lines. He barely feels Kurt bristle at his touch.

“Yeah, uh, the rocket is here,” Kurt gestures to the area above his elbow, “and then I have the Voyager Golden Record in a sun here,” he gestures to his shoulder.

“Neat-o,” Zisteau murmurs. “The Voyager Golden Record… wasn’t that—?”

“The CD containing pictures and sounds of Earth they meant for aliens to find,” Kurt explains immediately.

Z notes a new shine in his eyes. “Astronomy fan?” he asks, endeared to this new side of Kurt he’s found.

“Nah, just clicked ‘random page’ on Wikipedia and got the first thing tattood permanently on my arm,” Kurt smirks.

Zisteau opens his mouth to snark back, but a customer calls his attention and he has to turn away from Kurt’s smug smile. When he gets back, Kurt has pulled the sleeve back down and gone back to reading the paper, but not without a smile on his face.

After a few moments of charged silence, Zisteau drawls, “I can tell Etho, right.”

Kurt shrugs, not looking up. “You’ll tell him anyway.”

Zisteau has to take another order after that, and Kurt leaves him wondering if he would ever see the Golden Record half of his tattoo. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beef is introduced and there are numbers thrown around.

“Is that ever gonna happen?”

Zisteau looks up from the sink; Etho is leaning against the counter next to him, innocently waiting for customers. Zisteau thought back quickly to check if he’d missed anything Etho said—but Etho was the kind of person who took special care so that every one of his words mattered, albeit messing up pronunciations here and there. So probably not. “Is what?”

“Kurt? It’s been, like, six months. Do you even have his number?”

The main thing with Etho, more particularly with the mask that extends from his shirt, is that Zisteau still can’t tell if he’s smiling unless it shows in his eyes, and Etho knows how to control that, just to fuck with people. He takes a glance anyway. “Uh, no, why would I. Why is this coming up now?”

“’Cause, you know,” Etho shuffles around to face him, “he’s cute, you’re _moderately_ attractive—” (Zisteau keeps washing without missing a beat, not rising to his teasing) “—and every time you’re his barista I can’t stand being behind the counter with you from all the sexual tension in the air.”

If Zisteau cracks a mug in the sink, it’s all underwater, and Etho can’t see that, so that’s okay. “Dude, _what_ sexual tension, the raunchiest thing he’s said to me is probably ‘I’ll just have a large today’. …That wasn’t a question, don’t answer that.”

The truth was, there really was nothing to report. Aside from the few lines of banter they exchanged during the one to two times a week Kurt stopped by, there hadn’t been any opportunity, or for that matter courage, for exchanging numbers. Their conversations mostly revolved around space (Zisteau still couldn’t quite let go of the thought that Kurt had that tattoo, much to his amusement), coffee, or on the rare occasion Etho.

His co-bartender goes a full three days without mentioning the topic again, even when Kurt drops by and stays at the bar for half an hour while Zisteau wandered over periodically to talk to him when there were no customers. What breaks his resolve is, surprisingly, due to a person that has not met Kurt. Yet.

Daniel is an old friend of Etho’s, way back from when he studied in Canada. Etho always told the story of how quickly they’d taken to each other: Daniel muttered a random Seinfeld reference in the middle of class, and Etho, the biggest Seinfeld fan at the time, had laughed loudly in the large room and _almost_ gotten them both kicked out of class. The minute the class was dismissed, they’d had each other’s names and favorite Seinfeld episodes.

Zisteau had only ever heard stories about him, but he already had a pretty good idea of what kind of guy this Daniel was. Etho had assured him in return that Daniel already knew a ton about Z, too.

So when a man walks in the door within two minutes of his appointed meeting time with Etho, Z immediately thinks, _Well, that’s Daniel._ He had a jealousy-inducing beard, which Etho had never mentioned before but somehow seemed right in line with his personality. Sure enough, Etho visibly brightens at the sight of him, and rushes to clock in his break, then goes out to meet him. “ _Beef_ ,” Etho yells, in a voice that is too loud for him, and Daniel rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I told you not to call me that in public!!”

They sit at the bar, and aside from a small smile that Z offers them when he guesses that Etho is introducing him as the guy who snarks while Etho slacks off, Z attends to customers; Etho had scheduled his break right at the peak hour. He sneaks them glances while he’s mixing syrups and concentrates and milks; they are exchanging stories, it looks like, just what old friends do when they are separated for a long time. At one point, he looks up from a macchiato and catches Etho’s eye, who looks pointedly out the window, where a distinct Cavalier pulls up in the parking lot.

Z turns his attention back to the queue and grins at Kurt a minute later when he enters and waves. Z prepares Kurt’s drink without prompting, because by his own admission, if he didn’t get that specific drink, it would be probable cause to suspect an impostor. When he turns to hand it over, he spots Kurt standing over by Etho, who waves him over.

 “Beef is helping organize an auto show next week,” Etho informs Z, over what sounds like Beef telling Kurt where said auto show is. Kurt accepts the cup quietly. “And I thought hey, Kurt knows more about cars than I do, so he should come too” (Kurt smiles widely at this, as though it’s the best compliment anyone could give him) “and hey, if you want to as well?”

“The more the merrier,” Beef affirms. “I mean, if you find looking at cars all that merry. I think it’s going to end up being me and Kurt going around gawking at cars while Etho kicks at bumpers or something.”

“Hey!” Etho gripes, right as Kurt laughs quietly and murmurs: “Please don’t kick at the bumpers.”

“It’ll be fun! Nice change of pace. Whatcha say, Zisteau?”

Z takes a look at the three of them—Etho looking at him with bright eyes and obvious motives, Beef, the guy he’s barely talked to yet is already strangely comfortable with, and Kurt, who is still holding on to an unopened cup. Z makes a mental note that he is unpaid. “Um, I think I’ll pass,” he says, aiming for nonchalant. “Not a big car guy. And _someone_ has to hold down the fort while Etho takes an off day.” There was really no benefit to going—aside, maybe, from spending a few hours with Kurt that wasn’t in the coffee shop for once. Not that he was feeling brave enough to get around to that, anyway.

Etho stares at him, and it’s evidence of the five-odd years of their friendship that Zisteau knows exactly what he’s thinking: _This is your chance on a silver platter, don’t you walk away from it._ For Kurt and Beef’s benefit, though, Etho shrugs like it’s nothing.

“You guys have fun,” Zisteau continues, ignoring Etho’s pointed look. “Pass by on your way back if you miss me too much.”

He means it for Etho, but it’s Kurt who teases, “Will you have a cup ready?”

“Sure, anything,” Zisteau replies reflexively, then processes what he said. “Although it’s always the same for you.” That was probably even worse. Kurt smiles brightly at him, and Z can practically hear the comment brewing in his head—until Etho nudges him towards the counter and he’s forced to bail.

\-- 

(“This guy has got a _sleeve tattoo_?” Z hears, from the general area of Etho and entourage, a few minutes later, as he’s frothing the top of a café mocha.

“Yes, I can confirm, and so can Z if you don’t believe me,” is Etho’s reply.

Z thinks about what Kurt said about people being surprised about his tats, and his glance at Kurt is rewarded with a subtle eye roll.)

 --

On the afternoon of the auto show, Zisteau expects a barrage of texts from Etho, so he checks and rechecks that his phone is on silent, not vibrate, before putting it into his locker. However, two hours later on his break, all he gets is a blurred ten second image from Etho on Snapchat. It’s Kurt, of course, looking away from the camera, and he’s unrecognizable save for that _completely badass_ sleeve tattoo he’s rocking in what looks like a plain white three-quarter length sleeve shirt and jeans. The ink looks darker in contrast to the shirt, and the picture is _too goddamn blurry_ for his liking.

Z curses Etho out loud and struggles with the idea of saving the picture for all of ten seconds until the picture expires. He sends Etho a fire emoji, and throws his phone back into his locker.

 --

Later that night, Etho comes back into the coffeeshop alone, and Zisteau doesn’t notice him until he’s halfway to the counter; it’s night rush, and all the students were pouring in to order the cheapest drinks and leech off the wi-fi. Etho makes a beeline for the bar, slips behind it in the guise of a barista hurrying to help with the rush. Zisteau doesn’t pay attention to him until he jabs him in the hip and mutters, “Incoming.”

Z draws his eyebrows together and stares at Etho, who takes the frappe from his hand wordlessly. “I had them drop me off to _help with the rush_ , but they’re coming in a bit, had to park. Max?” he calls out, and a student with a buzz cut and blue eyes takes the frappe from him. “Did you like the picture I sent you?”

“Damn right I did, what the hell,” Zisteau mutters, as low as he could, half-hoping Etho wouldn’t hear, as he writes down the order for the next group of students in line. “How comes he never wears that shit when he comes in here?”

Etho shrugs, not bothering to looking at him, quickly pulling espresso shots. Z winces at the double shots he makes–it’s 7PM; these students must be having a rough day. When Etho passes the cups to him, he calls out the name and hands them over with a quick ‘good luck on your exams or whatever’.

“Not something I’ve missed.” Zisteau almost drops the goddamn tray and _shit_ , Beef is sitting right there at the bar, Kurt not far behind, still in the same outfit from the picture, still with the sleeve tattoo. Z realizes he’d kind of been hoping the tats had disappeared in the span of two hours. Is that just the shirt, or can he kind of see the circle of ink on his shoulder?

He’s going to make a fool of himself soon, he can feel it. “Well, who would,” he says, brightly as he can, averting his eyes, taking two more cups from Etho and squinting at the scribbled names on the cup. “Etho, you’ve got to work on your handwriting, this looks horrible. What the hell does this say? Ja—”

“Jacquelyn,” Etho calls, and Zisteau is still trying to work out how the hieroglyphics on the cup translated to that when it’s taken quickly from him by another student with dip-dyed hair.

“So how was the car party,” Z says, because he is a barista and a friend and there is no queue so he has no escape.

“Tiring,” Kurt mutters, and of course he would find it tiring, he’s the guy who stays at home and watches Netflix all day and sometimes goes out to hang out at the local coffeeshop and sits there for two hours without talking to the cute barista and goes right back home.

“Pretty shiny cars, though,” Beef interjects, and Kurt smiles.

“Good, I was worried they would forget to bring the cars to the car show.” Z kicks himself mentally for good measure, but Beef snorts and Kurt grins and _why is every movement of his arms so in focus right now_. “Ha, ha. I thought you said you would have my cup ready?”

“Oh, sh—well, I didn’t know when you were coming!”

“I’ll text next time, then,” Kurt answers immediately, pulling out his phone and checking the time, then unlocking it. Z feels like he’s watching this all in slow motion, right up to the point where he’s handed the phone. “I don’t think I have your number, though.”

As he takes it, Kurt turns casually to Beef and says, “Come to think of it, I don’t have yours, either.” And Z looks up from Kurt’s phone and into the CCTV camera reflexively like he’s on The Office. Etho would be proud. Z reminds himself to give him a timestamp later.

“Here you go.” He puts down the phone in front of Beef, and as soon as he does, Etho taps his elbow and he reaches out without looking to accept a tray full of cups. He’s barely read out the name when the order is taken from him.

“Counter, Etho? Kurt wants a drink.” As Z shuffles past Etho to get to the French press, Etho mutters controversially, “Then ask him out.”

Zisteau smacks Etho with the tray.

\--

Later that night, he gets a cryptic text from an anonymous number, that admittedly takes too long for him to figure out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things about expanding this AU is figuring out how a matured friendship between Z and Etho would pan out, and I'm really happy with what I've come up with. I like to think of Etho as having a hint of nosey-ness with IRL friends, just like any friend would.  
> Also, Z in this AU is a representation of how hung up I (still) am on Kurt's sleeve tat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vechs pays a visit and makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually completed before chapter 3, it was so fun to write :D probably my favorite chapter to date. i quite like this vechs i've written. enjoy!!!

Zisteau spots him the minute he walks through the door.

“Hello, Zistykins!” is his greeting, all sugar and sparkles and the promise of adventure at once. His heart still races when he succumbs to a smile and returns the greeting: “Heyo, Vechs.”

“You look so dashing today,” Vechs sings, ever forward, and Zisteau grins, but says nothing. Vechs pushes forward. “What time do you get off? Like, enough time to catch up with you time off?”

“In like, an hour and a half.”

Vechs wrinkles his nose. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come back then.”

Zisteau smiles; Vechs knows not to take up his time when he’s on duty. “Don’t you want anything? Before you go?”

“Oh, surprise me,” Vechs winks at him, but Z’s already turned to roll his eyes. He prepares the drink on the menu with the most sugar.

 --

“Was that Vechs?” Etho says after his ex’s back, having just emerged from the storeroom.

Zisteau nods.

“Wasn’t that a strawberry double caramel macchiato?”

Zisteau nods.

“…and doesn’t he hate those?”

Zisteau nods.

Etho scoffs. “Remind me never to date you.”

“Not a chance.”

 --

The next day, Z ends up shrugging off his apron and changing into an equally green checkered polo that he is half sure is actually Etho’s. He comes out of the staffroom, spots Vechs in one of the overstuffed couches by the far side from the counter, and rushes over to sit next to him, all while aware of Vechs’ bright green eyes on him.

“So how was your day,” Vechs croons. “More like, how were your past few months?”

“Still working here, still working on the degree,” Zisteau says vaguely. All of this is just a formality to Vechs, he knows, but he’s not falling for it—not immediately, anyway.

Vechs grins and seems to catch on, so he makes small talk, the artificial kind you make with someone you used to know well but have fallen out with, talking about the places he’s been and things he’s done, relating them to things he and Zisteau experienced together. Zisteau listens, because for all his flaws, Vechs has interesting stories.

He listens intently to a particularly chilling anecdote involving crossbows firing into walls, even leaning forward a little in his chair, and almost misses Etho’s furious waving from over the bar, standing across a grinning Kurt.

The thought of Etho mangling Z’s mix—Kurt’s mix—suddenly rises in his mind as a top priority, and he turns quickly to Vechs and excuses himself to make his way to the bar.

“Hey,” he says, casually as he can, to Kurt. He slips behind the bar and throws on an apron while elbowing Etho away from the French press. “ _No_. No more fucking up my mix. Give me that,” and Etho relinquishes the chocolate, grinning. Zisteau considers the idea that he may have been deliberately screwing this up for months now, waiting for this exact moment. _God_ , he’s so easy to manipulate.

“Jesus, Z, language. There are _customers_ around.” Zisteau turns to look at Vechs, sliding casually into the bar stool next to Kurt. The contrast is jarring to Zisteau; he looks back down at the stirrer he was holding.

“Naw, it’s fine,” Etho says, and he doesn’t have to look to know that Etho is leaning against the counter, about to engage in his favorite hobby of making fun of Zisteau, however indirectly. “Kurt’s here all the time, he’s heard Z say much worse.”

Kurt laughs that closed-mouth laugh of his, the one he laughs when he finds something genuinely funny but felt too reserved at the moment. (It’s Zisteau’s favorite. He tries to deny this to himself. Key word: tries.) “Yes. Zisteau is a big pottymouth.” Z turns towards them slowly with the coffee in hand, and Kurt seems to see the snark building in his eyes, because he adds quickly, “—but he makes the best coffee and also has really good taste in them?”

He manages not to smile by biting his cheek and sets down the coffee in front of Kurt. Vechs turns to him with the vigor of a fan suddenly realizing he was sitting next to a celebrity; Kurt draws back a fraction of an inch. “Didn’t I hear him say something about ‘his mix’, though? Does he mean _that_ mix, Etho? I’m pretty sure that involved strawberries at some point before.”

“Don’t hate, I was experimenting,” Zisteau says loudly, at Kurt’s questioning look.

“Yep, that one,” Etho says, ignoring him. “Imagine my surprise when this guy comes in one day and orders the exact same thing.”

“Then he goes and prepares it wrong, right in front of me,” Zisteau hisses. “Probably deliberately. Have you been screwing with me this whole time?”

Etho’s grin is bright, _the one that makes it impossible to hate him_ , as he describes it. Zisteau still does his best; he is all about impossible things. “No, of course not. Why would I do that to you?”

And Zisteau suddenly remembers the two other people across the bar, now engrossed in their own conversation. He hurries to slide into it before Vechs can say anything incriminating: “Don’t listen to anything this guy tells you, Kurt, he’s a real joker.”

Vechs’s mouth falls open in mock-offense. “Me, the joker? What about you, who bought a new number just to send me anonymous pick-up lines?”

“Oh my god,” Zisteau breathes, pointedly not looking in Kurt’s direction, “will you _please_ stop bringing that up. That was forever ago.”

“Were they good pick-up lines, at least?” Kurt interjects, and Zisteau takes a glance. He’s grinning, watching Vechs take out his phone. “See for yourself.”

Kurt laughs and gives it back. “They worked on me, at least,” Vechs says, and at Kurt’s hesitation, he adds, “ _worked_. Z and I are just friends now.” He sounds like he’s reassuring Kurt, which makes Zisteau wonder where Etho was at this crucial moment of him getting embarrassed. Attending to customers, maybe. He hopes his poker face is good enough.

“While we’re on the topic,” Vechs says smoothly, “been dating, Z? Anyone I should be jealous of?” He’s always been flirty and dangerously sweet, and Zisteau doesn’t mind, most of the time—but Kurt is _right there_.

“Been on a few dates,” Zisteau lies noncommittally. He is suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders; he rolls them, relaxes them, takes a breath.

“Oh. Nothing serious, then? So I can ask you out?”

Zisteau tenses again.

“Actually,” Kurt starts, and when Zisteau glances at him, their eyes meet. Kurt’s eyes are a pleasant blue-green, betraying no emotion but slight amusement. “I, um, I’m the guy he’s been—”

“ _Oh._ ”Vechs says, too loudly, and he bursts into a fit of giggles that is totally out of place, between Kurt and Zisteau avoiding each other’s eyes, Zisteau himself between surprise that Kurt had said that at all, and the fact that Vechs had cut him off. All the better, as well—the sound of Kurt saying _I’m the guy he’s been dating_ is nothing short of agonizing.

“Ohh no, I’m _sorry_ ,” Vechs says it in a tone that would be sarcastic when used by anybody else, but Zisteau knows him well enough that he can tell it’s sincere. “I’m sorry for laughing too. I should have _known_! Good on you, Z!” At this, he punches Zisteau in the arm. “Exact same mix, you are freakin’ _destined_. Have you asked him what kind of alcohol he likes, yet? Your preference there is weird too.”

Vechs is way too excited about this, which Zisteau uses as a cover to look at Kurt. Unfortunately, he seems to be thinking along the same lines, and their eyes meet again. Kurt looks so baffled, in contrast to what is probably pure horror on his face.

“It’s single malt scotch, if you were wondering.” Kurt says blankly, save for everything that’s not his voice.

“Fuck.” Zisteau bites his lips before he can say any more. Why. _Why_. Vechs laughs uproariously, mostly at his reaction.

“Is it really?” Kurt turns to Vechs, who has a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. He nods. “Spot on! Oh my god; that has been Z’s _favorite_ alcohol since he reached legal drinking age.”

“Are we talking about single malt scotch?” Etho says, sliding up next to him.

“What the fuck,” Zisteau exclaims, forgetting he was behind the bar. Etho smacks him in the shoulder.

“Oh, shit,” Vechs says, pulling out his ringing phone. “Oh, man, so much swearing today. But—okay, Zistykins, I have to go, need to buy some stuff for a party tonight—”

“Ah, are you going to the supermarket? I’m passing by there, if you need a ride…” Kurt offers politely; Zisteau stares in abject horror.

“That would be _perfect_ , thank you so much!” Vechs simpers, looking from Kurt to Zisteau. He leans toward the latter, across the bar, and stage-whispers, “Keep him,” as Kurt picks up his cup and downs the rest of it in one go.

“I’ll see you later,” Kurt says, grinning, probably completely aware of Vechs at his side, and Zisteau realizes that people probably don’t stare stupidly after the person they’re supposedly dating when they leave. “Be safe,” he manages dumbly, Vechs and Kurt already halfway across the room; Vechs turns to wink at him while Kurt looks at him and grins. He and Etho watch the Cavalier drive away.

“Well that was fun,” Etho says brightly. “What happened, exactly?”

 --

Talking to Etho gets his thoughts sorted out, mostly, but he still feels restless and in the wrong when he gets home, so he texts Kurt as he’s watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns.

 

Something was off. Zisteau thinks back, and remembers.

He finds himself smiling, which makes him realize he doesn’t mind at all. In fact, after a little bit of thinking, he realizes something.

He should leave it at that, he thinks. It would be a nice, normal ending to a calm conversation. God knows he needs more of those today. But he bites his lip and sends one more text.

 

His hands freeze on his phone—he doesn’t know what Kurt means by that, and honestly he’s kind of scared. He sends Etho a screenshot.

Zisteau stares at Kurt’s last text. If he was going to ask him out, it would have to be now. He leans back on the couch, thinking.

He didn’t even know if Kurt was single. Or interested. Kurt was very reserved, right down to his clothing, that he hadn’t even seen more than a hint of the sleeve tattoo since he’d deliberately pulled up his sleeve to show him. For all he knew, Kurt had a significant other he’d just never bothered to mention to him or Etho.

Z decides to go for broke, because he’s Zisteau, but as he’s typing, Kurt beats him to it.

Oh, he’d forgotten about that.

_What a dork_ , he thinks as he locks his phone. It lights up again, barely two minutes later:

He puts his phone on silent and hides it under the couch for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY we're getting somewhere  
> \- the vechs story about crossbows firing into walls is true  
> \- i would like to thank /r/dota2 for the droprate pick up line  
> \- what vechs said about z is easy to guess if you've been following my tumblr :D this will, of course, be the premise until the next chapter... which is not written yet. until then!


End file.
